


Beg Me

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Begging, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Gratuitous Smut, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pure filth with a little world building, Restraints, dom!Hermione, okay there's a little plot because I feel weird writing straight up PWP, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Hermione Granger was dangerous. There was no denying that. But when she walked into Draco’s bar inthatdress andthoseheels, he’s powerless to deny her whatever she wants. And it turns out she’s far more demanding than he ever bargained for… especially when she brings along business associate. Hermione x Draco x Pansy.





	Beg Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey loves! This was written for the Restricted Section Multi + Triad Only's Kink-tober event after no one claimed BDSM. This isn't strictly BDSM, though it does have some elements. Please note I'm not an expert on the lifestyle, so I apologize if anything was portrayed incorrectly. HUGE alpha creds to LadyKenz347 for going over this for me and filling my inbox with fangirl notes that bolstered my fragile confidence enough to post this lol 
> 
> Any remaining errors are my own, as this has not been beta read.

**Beg Me**

“Oy, mate, you need to get out and do something with yourself. I’m tired of listening to you moan about being alone every weekend,” Theo drawled from behind his desk.

Draco snapped the ledger book closed, dragging a hand down his face. “You know, as my friend, you’re contractually obligated to listen to me complain.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “First, if there was a contract, I was woefully unaware of it. Second, it has passed complaining and entered the realm of self pity. Come on, mate. You’re an attractive bloke.” Theo waggled his eyebrows at him. “You could have your fair share of witches now. What’s the hangup?”

Draco ignored him, returning to the papers before him. They’d opened a bar together after the war. Well, he, Theo, and Blase had. Together, they’d pooled their resources and used the money they had left after reparations to try to carve out a life for themselves. 

Unfortunately that also meant that he had to put up with them every _ bloody _day.

Draco pushed back from his desk, the force of his shove rattling the photos on his desk, and he grimaced. When the shaking frames calmed and the wizards within them stopped running for cover, he gathered the files in his hands and crossed the room to the file cabinets, cursing himself the entire way. 

He was lonely, damnit. Theo was painfully optimistic in his evaluation of Draco’s prospects, though he did have something of a point. Draco _ could _ have whoever he wanted. _ If _he wanted another meaningless romp in the sack with some witch whose name he wouldn’t remember. 

No, he’d long tired of those games. While it felt good in the moment, he always felt dirty when he slipped out of their rooms early the next morning.

His dissatisfaction must have been palpable because Theo cleared his throat and spoke. “Listen, Draco, I’m not trying to be a git. I just think that you need to put yourself out there. I know that Astoria was ‘it’ for you, but—”

Draco sighed, turning to glare at Theo over his shoulder as he snapped the file cabinet shut. Her name didn’t elicit quite the sting it used to, but it still caused an uncomfortable throb to settle in his chest, and Draco didn’t like to acknowledge it if he didn’t have to.

With his hands raised in supplication, Theo continued, “She cheated on you, man. With one of your _ best mates. _ I always told you that Flint was a right git, but that should have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. I don’t know how you can still spend time with him, knowing that Stori was sleeping around with him behind your back. Merlin, knowing she’s _ still _sleeping with him and set to marry him, to boot.” 

“Alright, I get it.” Draco gritted his teeth. “I don’t need a reminder every time I turn around that she screwed me over, okay? I’m painfully aware.” 

Theo stood and crossed the room. “What I think you need is a distraction. Something pretty to stick your prick in for the night. Like Monaco.” He looked up at Draco with a sly grin. “You seemed to have a good time in Monaco.” 

Warmth shot up Draco’s cheeks, and he turned away so Theo wouldn’t see his furious blush. “We are _ not _talking about Monaco.” 

The door to their shared office squeaked open, and Blaise bustled in, his arms full of packages with the pub’s address labeled on it. “Talking about Monaco, eh? Reliving the glory days?”

Theo cackled as Draco shot them both the bird. “Just telling Malfoy here that he needs to release some tension, give up a bit of _ control_, if you know what I mean.” 

“You’re areholes, the both of you.” Draco stomped back to his desk, embarrassment burning in his core and curling around his nerves. He found he couldn’t keep his hands busy enough to distract himself, so he tapped a pen. “What’s the plan for tonight?” He hoped changing the subject would distract the other men long enough to effectively get them to drop it.

Blaise leveled a flat glare at him. “I’m onto you, Malfoy.” With a shake of his head, the dark skinned man began tearing open the packages. “Theo’s got the first few hours. Draco, it’s your night to close.” 

Theo crossed the room, chuffing Draco on the shoulder as he passed. “Try not to be a terrible bore and run everyone out before closing time, would you dear? It’s terribly bad for business.” 

“Once again, I hate you both,” Draco quipped, gathering a handful of Floo powder. 

Theo shot a smirk over his shoulder. “But how boring would your life be without us? Don’t be late to relieve me.” His gaze turned serious. “I’ve got a date with Lovegood, and I don’t intend to be late.”

With a grumble of agreement, Draco threw the powder into the fire. He needed new friends.

* * *

Draco was late.

He’d planned to relieve Theo at the Tipsy Thestral at eight as scheduled, but Blaise had tracked him down to complain about one of his myriad girlfriends, so Draco hadn’t made it in until after nine. By the time he made it, the pub was in full swing.

Draco stood behind the bar, polishing one of the many glasses Theo had abandoned on the countertop. Owning a pub with his friends wasn’t awful, he mused. Though the nights were long and exhausting, the crowd that the bar drew in was entertaining. Most of his old classmates steered clear of it, so it wasn’t like he had them as a constant reminder of his ineptitude. It was a respectable establishment and Draco was proud of it, but—

But something had always been missing.

Sometimes, however, owning a pub surprised him, though not often in the best ways. It was while he was stacking pint glasses neatly on one of the open shelves that Hermione Granger strode into his bar and turned his night upside down.

No one had seen her. Not for five years, at least. She’d disappeared a few months after the war, precisely two days after her very public refusal of Weasley’s marriage proposal. He couldn’t say he blamed the witch; everyone knew she hadn’t intended to settle down.

Now, there she was, breezing into the bar, a vision in sky high heels and a skin-tight black dress. Draco jaw fell open, and he took her in. Her tanned skin glittered in the low lamplight, and his gaze was drawn to the thigh-high slit that flashed barely-there glimpses of her toned thigh. He could just make out the holster in which she kept her wand, and he had to swallow a thick sigh at the sight.

_ Merlin. _ Time had certainly been kind to Hermione Granger. 

The curly-haired witch swayed to a stop before him, hips cocked to the side while her arms folded over her chest. “Are you gonna stare at me all night or can I get a drink?” 

Draco shook himself out of his stupor and obliged, summoning a chilled glass from the back room. “What’ll it be?” 

Pulling a chair out across from him, her manicured hand began brushing crumbs from its vinyl top. “Surprise me,” she muttered, whipping her wand out of the holster and casting a swift _ Scourgify _ on its surface before she lowered herself into it.

Draco gulped, settling in to pour her a gin and tonic. She’d draped herself across the surface of the bar chair, her legs slung carelessly over its arm, and when he extended the drink to her, she took a lazy, experimental sip. Granger must have approved because she tipped her head at him appreciatively.

Tentatively clearing his throat, he spoke. “Where have you been?”

Granger peered up at him from beneath thick lashes, and her throaty chuckle and the playful glint flashing in the deep amber of her gaze shot straight to his groin. “Really, Malfoy, if I wanted the questions of a spurned lover, I would have gone to Ron, not you.”

With a groan of frustration, Draco rubbed his hand over his stubble. Some things never changed, it seemed, and Granger’s easy dismissal of his question was no different than the way she’d treated him at Hogwarts. When he opened his mouth to bid her goodnight so he could finish the night without ridicule, Granger spoke.

“I’ve been around.” She rested her elbow on the bar chair, swirling the liquor in her glass as she peered at it contemplatively. Her black dress rested off her shoulder, and Draco fought the urge to stare at the line of cleavage he could see just behind her glass. 

Draco scoffed. “Real enlightening, Granger.”

She eyed him over her drink and savored another sip before speaking. “I needed out; I found someone who needed—” she paused, considering her phrasing before continuing “—services that I was more than capable to provide. I’m sure you’ve heard the theories.”

He had. Wizards with known dark ties had been turning up all over the world, each one with red lipstick imprint on their forehead. Judging by the shade of lipstick she sported, the same one staining the rim of her glass, he’d be willing to bet all the Galleons in the pub that she was behind it.

Granger inclined her head. “I know what you’re thinking, but… war.” A cavalier shrug. “It changes a girl.” She chuckled mirthlessly, shaking her head at whatever expression he was sure was on his face. “And a boy, if the accounts are true.” 

Draco snorted. “If you mean testifying against my father, then I suppose you’re right. Should have done it a long time ago.”

One of the other patrons down the bar signalled for his attention, and with a polite nod, he excused himself. Soon, he was pulled into the rapid-fire pace that was being a barkeep. Draco continued to pour drinks, passing them around to his regular customers and trading quips with those he’d developed friendships with. Through it all, though, he kept a close eye on _ her. _

Despite what everyone had thought, he’d never truly hated Muggle-borns. His father’s influence, though corrosive, had never penetrated far beyond the surface, but he’d made a good show of it. The very same girl at the bar three seats down from him had helped nip that in the bud. 

He’d been fascinated by her ever since she’d ducked into his cabin on the Hogwarts Express, and he still was enamored with her now as she sipped her drink, shooting the other patrons coy looks out of the corner of her eye.

Everyone gave her a wide berth. Hermione Granger was famous, by all rights, in the wizarding community. The rumours floating around her were enough to keep everyone away.

Everyone except him, though.

Granger was nothing—and everything—like he remembered her. She was wickedly sharp and quipped back at most of his sarcastic comments without fail. Gone, though, was the unsure little swot from Hogwarts. Now, Granger commanded the room with an easy confidence that Draco thought even Godric Gryffindor would be jealous of. 

In short, Granger was intoxicating, and suddenly Draco wanted her with a voracity that was breathtaking. 

After a few hours of continuous drink pouring and mindless banter, the regular crowd began to thin out. With a wave of his wand, the lights flashed, warning the remaining patrons that the bar would close in ten minutes. He watched as Leon McElory gathered his drunken cousin up from his drunken nap in the booth, and when the door chimed behind them, the bar was empty.

Save one witch in particular.

Her eyes burned a hole in his back as he waved his wand and rearranged the chairs, casting a swift _ Scourgify _on tabletops speckled with warm beer. He diligently ignored her, focusing on the feeling of magic coursing through his veins, the proof of his work materialising before him in the sparkling tabletops.

And when the bell over the door rang out behind him, he relaxed a bit, breathing out a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to confront the strange attraction he’d felt for Hermione Granger.

Until a warm hand clasped over his shoulder and spun him around, a very feminine form moulding itself to his front. “Draco, it’s been _ entirely _too long, don’t you think?”

He’d knew that voice—that cloying rose perfume. He’d know it anywhere, but his mind reeled, trying to make sense of why _ Pansy Parkinson _ would have stepped into his pub the same night that Hermione Granger had.

When her hand curled up and around his neck, Draco finally found his voice, slipping from beneath her and darting toward the bar where Granger still sat with a Cheshire grin. “Pans, not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

The sound of her clicking footsteps followed him across the bar, and it was only when he had the buffer of the countertop between them that he looked up. 

Pansy had slid the seat next to Hermione closer to her, their crossed legs bumping against one another as they shared a quick look before Pansy looked back at Draco. “We’re on an assignment of sorts, Granger and I.” Her nails drummed on the countertop.

A furrow of confusion rooted itself in his brow, and he eyed both women as sent glasses to their home among the shelves. After a moment, he said, “And you’re working together?”

Granger hummed to herself, uncrossing her leg and leaning forward. “When it suits us, yes. We’ve found that our partnership can be mutually beneficial.”

_ Mutually beneficial? _Draco shook his head. “Granger, I—”

“Someone put a hit out on you, Draco,” Pansy interrupted, leaning forward. “Multiple someones, in fact, and as an undercover Auror, I’ve been assigned to your protection detail. Granger has been cleaning up the mess, investigating why anyone would want you dead, and—”

His mind reeled, hands flying up to stop the tirade of new information she was dropping at his feet. “Someone wants me _ dead _?”

“Wanted.” Pansy clarified, glancing at Hermione. “Not all that surprising, given you turned coat on everyone your family trusted.” She caught his gaze. “You betrayed a lot of people, Draco.”

He laughed, full-blown guffaws that shook his shoulders as he looked between the two women. “I’m sorry, but you actually expect me to believe this?”

Granger waved a wand, summoning one of the bottles of whisky from the wall before her and poured herself a hearty serving. “What kind of proof do you want?” She settled her glass on the counter, ticking items off on her fingers. “You conspired with Severus Snape to sneak information to the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Which is on public record,” he protested.

With a stern glare, Granger continued, “Contributed to the war recovery fund under a pseudonym. Married and divorced Astoria Greengrass on an elopement.” He flinched at that one. “Ran away to Monaco to teach young witches and wizards, where you partied often and indulged in some rather interesting extracurriculars with some of the local women.” Hermione’s voice dropped on the last one, smoky and inticing, and damn if he didn’t want to know what it sounded like when telling him what to—

Forcibly stopping that line of thinking, he cleared his throat, picking up a rag to keep his hands busy lest he do something stupid like reach over the bar and sweep Granger into a kiss he was wholly unprepared for. “You’ll forgive me if it sounds less like protecting me and more like stalking.”

Pansy laughed, musical and light, far different that what her kohl-painted exterior implied. “We’re not _ stalking _ , Draco. Don’t flatter yourself.” She stole Granger’s glass, taking a languid sip. “I remember when you were fun—all those times we fooled around in a broom closet, the Slytherin dorms when Theo and Blaise were _ right there_.” Pansy’s eyes flashed. “When Granger and I heard about what you did in Monaco— well, we thought we’d pay you a visit.”

His hackles rose, shoulders tightening in preparation to defend himself. “And you’re what? Coming here to blackmail me into sleeping with you because you claim to have saved my life?” He threw the rag down, stalking toward the back room. “No thank you. I trust you can see yourselves out.”

“I saw the way you looked at me when I walked in, Malfoy.” Granger’s sing-song tone stopped him in his tracks, and he turned slowly, carefully watching her toss the last of the drink back. “It’s your call.” She stood up, the slit in her dress riding higher, exposing a band of black lace before it settled in place. “We’ll leave right now, never speak of it again, but if you don’t want us to...”

The invitation settled in the air between them, and Theo’s words echoed through his mind. _ You need a distraction. Give up a bit of control_. It was laid out on a platter for him, Granger staring him down as she leaned back into Pansy, the other woman’s hands sliding over her hips and up the bodice of Granger’s dress to brush over her breasts. With a start, Draco realised he could see Granger’s taught nipples through the fabric, and she exhaled heavily when Pansy pinched and rolled them between her fingertips.

“_Fuck me_.” The swear barely left his mouth before he realised how badly he wanted this.

A triumphant smile crawled up Hermione’s lips, and she stalked toward him, pausing at the end of the bar to allow him one last opportunity to change his mind.

Finally, after time had seemed to suspend around them, Granger stepped around the bar. She snagged his jaw between her index finger and thumb, eyes dark and captivating as she stared him down. With the heels, she stood just taller than him, and though he was lost in whatever was happening between them, he was distantly aware of the screech of Pansy’s chair sliding backward. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind blank for the riot of nerves in his chest. Granger’s lips parted, her words fanning over him as he fought to catch his breath. “You ought to be grateful that we’ve decided to help you… because right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or kill you.” 

“Can I pick?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, goosebumps racing over his flesh from the quiet huff of a laugh she emitted.

Hermione gazed down at him, eyes such dark pools he thought he might fall in them and never make his way back out. When she didn’t answer, he steeled his nerves and sealed his lips over hers.

Her lips were firm, but they quickly softened against his, returning his kiss with a voracious fever. When he felt Pansy settle beside them, her fingers dancing over his back and into his hair, he moaned into Granger’s mouth. When she pulled away, her thumb slid over his chin to wipe the red of her lipstick from his lips. “I’ve heard about you, Draco Malfoy.”

He stuttered out a laugh. “Of course you have, Granger; we went to scho—”

Pillowing her finger against his lips as she leaned into him, her breasts pressed into his chest,stalling all rational thought as Pansy tugged lightly on his hair. “Not—” Granger laughed, husky and low, the sound going straight to his groin “—about school.” Slowly, her hand trailed down his chest, featherlight over his half-buttoned oxford, before she lingered, tracing the thin sliver of exposed skin. 

Draco swallowed, a groan escaping him as Granger’s hand unbuckled the belt on his trousers and slipped beneath the band, cupping him over his boxer briefs. “I’ve heard that you like to give up control.” 

Draco was fucked.

Oh, he was utterly fucked, and he absolutely didn’t give a single shite about it.

Her eyes darkened at him, a wicked smile curving up her cheeks as she stared down at him. “Beg me.”

Hermione’s nails gently scraped over his member, and Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head, a muttered curse—or praise, even he wasn’t sure—slipping from his lips. 

It had been _ one _time. Blaise and Theo had gotten him drunk and taken him to a club, but…

When her hand slid sensually over his prick again, Draco shuddered. It didn’t matter how unsure of it he was. If she just kept touching him like that, he’d let her—let _ them_—do anything.

A low chuckle filled the air, and it was then that Draco realised he’d said that out like—had _ pleaded _ for her not to stop out loud. She slid her hand slowly up his chest, over his thundering heart and around his neck. When her fingers curled around him and squeezed just _ so _, all the blood in his body redirected itself to his cock. 

“_Beg. Me_.” The words dripped from her crimson painted lips, a honey-dipped temptation he was all too eager to partake of.

And he was lost, eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Granger. Fuck me.”

Hands. Hands were everywhere, pressing against him in just the right place as Pansy kissed her way up his neck, the light pressure of her nails down his chest driving him mad. When her lips closed over his earlobe and nipped sharply, his gaze shot open.

Granger watched with a satisfied smirk, leaning back against the bartop, and when he reached a hand out for her, she leaned forward into his space, her lips a hair's breadth away from his. “How much do you _ really _ want it?” 

With a decisive grunt, he lunged forward, waving his hand at the front door and locking it with a snap before he wrapped his hand around her wrist, the other around Pansy’s waist, and Apparated. 

They landed in his bedroom at the flat he shared with Theo. For a brief moment, he worried that he’d been too presumptuous, that maybe they’d wanted to have their way with him in the bar, and then Pansy and Granger were pulling his shirt over his head and pushing him down on the bed, Pansy crawling up alongside him and hoisting his arms above his head. When the warmth of magic encircled his arms, Pansy slid off to stand alongside Granger, and he tested his movement.

Nothing.

With a quick glance upward, he saw the silver restraints Pansy had fashioned around his wrists, resembling shackles that had littered Filch’s office in Hogwarts. They clinked against the wrought iron of his headboard, and the lack of motion inexplicably sent a shot of desire to his already-hard cock.

Granger stared down at him with hooded eyes, tracing his body hungrily. “Comfortable?”

Something told him to reply in the affirmative regardless of the light ache that started to emanate from his shackled wrists, so he nodded. Pansy, though, had sidled up alongside the bed while he lay transfixed by Granger, and a light swat landed across his stomach. “Answer her.”

Merlin, they’d be the death of him. “Quite.” 

Granger hummed her satisfaction. “Good.” She stalked behind Pansy, slowly sliding the straps of the woman’s dress down her shoulders and following it with teasing nips and licks. Despite himself, a strangled moan escaped as he watched Pansy’s head drop back against Granger’s shoulder, the riding crop she’d materialised falling limp at her side. “If something becomes too much, you’re to say red. Everything will stop. Understood?”

Another silent nod, and Pansy’s crop shot out, peppering another, harder swat against his chest. “Yes, Merlin, yes.” His answer came out on a breathless hiss. Heat rose through his core, colouring his chest, and though he thought he ought to be embarrassed, he couldn’t help the fierce wave of desire that flooded through him. 

Before him, Hermione slowly undressed Pansy, slipping the dress from her body and allowing it to pool on the floor at her feet. Her hands wrapped around Pansy’s body, plucking and pulling in all the places that made the other woman moan, and Draco desperately wanted to be the one to make her sing like that. 

Kneading Pansy’s breasts through her bra, Hermione looked up, the heat in her gaze enough to undo him. “Do you want to touch her?”

Memories of Pansy’s breathless noises in the broom closets crowded to the front of his mind, threatening to take him over the edge right then and there. “Please.” When Granger cocked a brow at him, and swallowed sharply and tried again. “Please, Granger, let me touch her.”

Granger frowned, one hand sliding down Pansy’s body and dipping in the front of her knickers. The other woman froze, back arching as Granger’s fingers moved slowly beneath the thin silk fabric. “I don’t know, Malfoy. It seems like you’re a bit… tied up at the moment. I think she might like it here a little more.” She crooked her fingers, and Pansy’s eyes rolled back, a muttered, “fuck” escaping her open mouth.

Draco’s mind raced, desperate to touch her, to do _ anything _that might alleviate the painful erection pressing against his zipper, and he blurted, “Please, Granger. I’ll—”

A wicked smile unfurled on Hermione’s lips. “Why don’t you lick her?” All the air in his chest escaped him, and Pansy’s eyes snapped open, landing on his. “Would you like that, Malfoy?”

“Merlin, yes. Please, let me lick you, Pans.” He’d be embarrassed tomorrow. Hell, he’d probably never tell anyone about this, but gods he wanted them. 

When Hermione withdrew her hand from Pansy’s nickers and shooed her forward, Draco nearly cried with relief. Pansy stopped before the end of the bed, shimmying out of her knickers, and crawled on the bed, settling beside him and trailing a finger along his chest, upward and away from where he desperately needed her to touch. Before she could swing herself over him, though, Hermione cleared her throat.

“Pansy, turn around. I want to see your face.” Hermione stood, hands on her hips, at the end of the bed, watching them, and Pansy obeyed, swinging her leg over him and hovering just inches above his face. 

If his hands were loose, he’d have reached up, grabbed her hips, and buried himself in the heat of her. Without them, he had to watch as she slowly lowered herself over his face, and when he finally flicked a tongue out to taste her, he was undone. 

The first taste of a woman was always exquisite, all of them so different, but Pansy—Pansy he remembered, and he groaned into her as she slowly rocked on his face.

He dipped his tongue inside her, relishing in the slick warmth and thanked the gods for his good luck. But when he felt the bed dip at his feet and his trouser slide down his legs, he froze, desperately trying to see past Pansy toward the end of the bed.

All he could see was Granger’s naked form hovering between his sprawled legs, and his cock jumped at her proximity. When her hand enclosed its engorged head, he threw his head back against the pillow with a grunt. Her hands were sure, sliding down the length before swirling over his tip, and he had to will himself from finishing. He couldn’t, however, stop himself from thrusting into her grip.

And then her movements stopped, and a choked noise of protest escaped him.

Below him, Granger chuckled, the sensual sound driving his already rampant libido. “Did I tell you that you could stop, Malfoy?” 

With a deep breath, Draco calmed the racing of his heart, and resumed his feast on Pansy. 

The sensations were overwhelming. Above him, Pansy moaned, alternating between scratching at his chest and palming her breasts, while Hermione worked him with her hands. It was everything he’d never known he’d needed, never mind that he could scarcely breathe when Pansy began to rut against him, and he thought he’d surely die of overstimulation from his own pending release.

And then Hermione’s hands were gone, and he nearly protested, but suddenly the bed shifted and he felt himself poised at her entrance. In the time it took him to draw in a bolstering gasp, Granger plunged downward, enveloping him in her warmth. 

He had died.

That was the only way to explain how he’d ended up here, with Pansy Parkinson riding his face like her life depended upon it and Hermione Granger bouncing on his cock. Then Pansy came with a shout above him, her muscles clenching and her thighs quaking. When she finally stopped shaking, she slumped to the side. And he was afforded with an unobstructed view of Hermione Granger riding him.

Gods, he’d never been so hard in his life as he watched her lean forward, bracing herself on his abdomen as she rolled her hips against him, driving his cock deep within her, head thrown back in satisfaction. When Pansy slipped off the bed and retrieved the riding crop, heat flared darker in him and he desperately wished his hands were free. Granger stilled, rising up until just the tip of him rested within her folds, and she turned, arse facing him and slid down him slowly, the riding crop accompanying her decent in a rain of sound.

The sound of the leather on Granger’s flesh peppered their moans, a rosy red rising on the skin where Pansy flogged. Three, four, five times Pansy peppered swats over Hermione’s arse, each one increasingly in pressure until Granger bucked wantonly against him.

A guttural moan escaped him. “Fuck, Granger, I’m going to come.” 

Her head whipped around to stare at him, the deep, carnal desire in her gaze stealing his breath. “Not yet—not until I tell you to.” It was a command, one that every part of him told him to obey, to just drive up into her until he fell apart, but he couldn’t, something deep within him obeying. 

Her hands shout out, wrapping around Pansy’s neck, and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Unable to help himself, he muttered a spell, vanishing the shackles around his wrist, and he shot up, hands fanning over Hermione’s arse as she pulled away from Pansy and glared back at him. Guilt shot through him, but when she rolled her hips and pulled a moan from him, he couldn’t help it. “Please, Granger. _ Please _let me fuck you.”

Something in her gaze ignited, and she nodded. It was all the permission he needed. He pulled out of her, settling her legs on either side of his legs, and rightened himself, settling behind her on his knees. Without second thought, he aligned himself with her centre and plunged in, snapping his hips forward in a race against time. 

Her lips crashed against Pansy’s again, hands palming her breasts as Pansy’s own tweaked her nipples. Harsh breaths chased themselves from her lungs, the sounds between them a chorus of desire, and when her legs began to shake on either side of him, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. 

Finally, she pulled away from Pansy, breathless desire colouring her tone. “Fuck, I’m coming Draco. With me.” 

His hand snaked between them, finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles as his hips snapped harshly against hers and finally, _ finally _ her core tightened around him, and he snapped forward once more, coming with a strangled moan. 

His body felt like jello when he finally came back down from his high, and he realised he’d draped himself over Granger’s back, their sweat mingling as Pansy ran her hand over the other woman’s back, whispering praises to her. Slowly, he withdrew, both of them hissing at the sensation.

Flopping backwards on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, a goofy smile crossing his face. Despite himself, he announced to the room at large, “That was the best bloody shag of my life. You should save my life more often.”

The women’s laughter joined his own, and he propped his head up, staring down at Pansy and Hermione, who sat coiled together, Hermione’s hand already dropped between Pansy’s thighs and playing tight circles on the woman’s centre as Pansy rubbed soothing circles over the red marks on Hermione’s arse.

With a salacious grin and breathy gasp as Hermione’s fingers disappeared within her folds, Pansy looked up at him. “I take it you’ll have no objections to another round, then?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
